Wicked Bindup

by Paul Jennings

  ‘I’m going to die,’ I blurted out.

  Dawn reached over and put her hand on my arm. Even though I was panicking a little thrill ran through my body. She had a really soft hand for such a tough girl.

  Gramps snatched a quick glance at me. ‘Everybody dies sooner or later,’ he said. ‘It’s just a matter of when.’

  ‘That’s okay if you’re a hundred and fifty,’ I said. ‘But I’m only thirteen. There’s still a few things I haven’t done yet.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Gramps.

  I stared at Dawn. She really did have a cute little turned-up nose. And very nice lips. I could feel my face starting to go red. ‘Like nothing,’ I said grumpily.

  Gramps gave a smile. ‘There’s plenty of things I still want to do, too,’ he said.

  ‘Like what?’ said Dawn.

  ‘Like never you mind,’ he said with a devilish grin.

  ‘He’s thinking about Mrs Mugavin at the bowls club,’ said Dawn.

  ‘I am not,’ said Gramps hotly. Then he started to chuckle. ‘Okay, you got me,’ he said.

  Gramps was great. He cheered us up without us noticing that he had done it. A little bit of the terror had gone out of the journey.

  The snail crawled about in the box. And the Morris Minor crawled along the roads.

  We followed that snail. Out into the country. Far, far, from home. The sun was just beginning to set as we reached the town of Mooraboolie.

  Gramps stopped at a roundabout. ‘This is a big town,’ he said. ‘What does the snail say?’

  ‘Left,’ I said. ‘It’s the only road running north-west.’

  The more I thought about it, the more scared I became. At any moment I might see my dad. That was wonderful. I’d waited so long. But …

  ‘What will the snail do when we get there?’ I asked in a trembling voice. ‘What if it bursts out of its box?’

  Gramps changed the subject. ‘We had snails in France,’ he said. ‘During the war. Do you know what we used to do with them? When we were short of rations …’

  Gramps never got to tell us the rest. We passed under a sign which said AMBLE-BY COTTAGES. Gramps threw a glance at the sign and put his foot on the brake. I looked ahead and saw that the road came to a dead end. We were in a sort of crescent that ended in a circle.

  I stared out of the window. There were lots of kids riding bikes and skateboards and mucking around on the footpath. More kids than you would normally see in a street like that. There was something different about them. What was it? Then I realised. They were all dressed alike. Not the same clothes. But the same sort of clothes. As if they had been bought in the one shop.

  Gramps was looking at them too. With a horrified expression on his face. Suddenly he let out the clutch and did a u-turn. The Morris Minor bumped up over the kerb and started heading back the way we had come. Gramps had a wild, upset look in his eye.

  ‘Hey,’ I yelled. ‘This isn’t the way. The snail wants to go back there.’

  The snail was going crazy. It was foaming with green bubbles and racing in circles inside the cake box. Its eyes blinked and winked angrily. It wanted to get out.

  ‘I’ve just remembered something your mum …’ said Gramps. ‘I made a mistake. You don’t use the enemy’s compass.’

  I reached over and turned off the ignition key. ‘We’re close to Dad,’ I shouted. ‘You’re not stopping me now.’ I jumped out of the car and checked the snail. It wanted me to go along the street. I ran, faster and faster. My heart was thumping. At any moment I would see Dad. My father. Who loved me.

  Suddenly the snail stopped. Not a movement.

  I was standing next to a large tree on the nature strip outside a house. I gave the box a shake. ‘Which way,’ I yelled. ‘Which way?’

  The snail started to climb up the side of the box. This was crazy. Was it trying to get out? Did it want to streak ahead and infect my father?

  ‘Turn it on its side,’ said a sad voice. It was Gramps. Dawn wasn’t far behind him.

  I turned the box on its side and the snail immediately started climbing.

  ‘Up?’ I said. ‘It wants to go up?’

  I looked into the tree. The leaves and branches were thick and I couldn’t see into the top. I started to climb. It was difficult going. I had the slobberer’s wound on one hand, a snail box in the other and the apple-man half hanging out of my pocket. But I climbed and climbed and climbed.

  I was desperate. Branches scratched my face and sharp twigs clawed at my legs. But I ignored them. I didn’t even notice my bleeding legs and fingers. All I wanted was to see my father again. Dad, Dad, Dad.

  Finally, right at the top, I stopped. There was someone there. Sitting on a branch.

  A head popped out between the leaves and looked my way.

  My heart dropped. It wasn’t Dad.

  It was a boy. He was older than me. He stared at me with wide open eyes. For a moment he was frozen. Stunned. He looked at me wordlessly. He seemed to be choking with shock. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Neither could I.

  The snail box slipped from my hand and tumbled down through the branches. I hardly noticed. I didn’t even hear it hit the ground. And I didn’t look down to see if the lid had come off the box.

  I couldn’t take my gaze off the boy. I had seen those big, brown eyes before. And that gap between the two front teeth. And the nose and the hair. And the ears. I had seen them all. In the mirror.

  The boy in the branches. Staring into my eyes.

  Was a dead ringer for me …

  ONE

  It was like looking into a mirror. The boy who stared at me through the tree branches had my eyes, and ears, and hair. Even my nose. There was a bit of fuzz on his top lip. And he was a bit taller and had a couple of pimples.

  But apart from that, the boy was me. He blinked back – stunned – not believing what he was seeing.

  I tell you this. I had been chased by slobberers. And I had looked into the jaws of a giant frog. I had seen Dawn’s dead mother smile at me. And had followed a snail compass halfway across the state. But all that was nothing compared to this.

  I knew this boy. And he knew me. But how can you know someone you have never seen before? And why was my stomach jumping? Why were my hands clammy?

  I felt like you do on Christmas morning when you get an unexpected present. It was like witnessing a birth. Weird. Really weird.

  ‘Aagh, the snail’s out. The snail’s escaped.’ Dawn’s shrieking voice came up from below.

  I couldn’t see the ground from where I was. But I realised with a shock that the infected snail must have escaped when I dropped the box. The snail that was seeking my next of kin. That wanted to kill my father.

  ‘It’s heading up the tree,’ came Gramps’ shaky shout. ‘It’s infiltrating our defences. Get the beggar.’

  The boy was puzzled. But I was scared. Was my dad up there somewhere? I had to protect him. I scrambled out in the branches. ‘Dad, Dad, Dad,’ I yelled. ‘Where are you? Look out. Jump. Get out of the tree. The snail’s coming.’

  No one answered. There was no one else up there.

  I peered down and saw it. Coming up the trunk at a great rate of knots. The fastest snail in the world. I searched wildly for something to hit it with. I tried to snap off a small branch but it wouldn’t break. There was only one thing to do. I pulled out my apple-man and started swatting wildly at the snail.

  It was a bad idea. The snail vanished. Where was it? Where was the rotten thing? Where had it gone? Oh, shoot. It was crawling around on the head of the apple-man. It was sticking its face and horrible eyes into my apple-man’s nostrils. Without thinking I grabbed the apple-man by the legs and started bashing its head against a branch. I didn’t give a thought to the apple-man. I just had to get rid of the infected snail. It was clinging on like crazy.

  I held the apple-man as steady as I could and bent back my finger. Flick. Whap. The snail spun off into the air and fell towards the gro
und.

  ‘Look out, Dawn,’ I shouted. ‘It’s back down there somewhere.’

  ‘Got him,’ came Gramps’ excited voice. ‘Got the bludger.’

  ‘Put it in the box,’ I yelled. ‘Put it in the box.’

  Then I forgot about the snail and turned to the older version of myself.

  He was holding something out at me. At first I couldn’t make sense of it. How did he get that? He had my apple-man. In his shaking hand he held out my apple-man, almost pushing him into my face.

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I looked down at my own shaking hand. I was still holding my apple-man. His head was a bit dented and there were sort of lumps under his shirt that I hadn’t noticed before. I could feel them with the tips of my fingers. But he was still my apple-man. So how could the boy have it?

  The answer was simple. He had one too – just like mine.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I said in a shaking voice.

  He came closer and examined me carefully. ‘Where did you get my face?’ he said.

  I tried to stop myself from fainting. From falling out of the tree. I tried desperately to fit all the pieces together. ‘Concentrate,’ I told myself. ‘Work it out. Slowly, slowly. Bit at a time.’

  The boy was a bit older than me – okay.

  The boy looked just like me – right.

  The boy had an apple-man – no doubt about that.

  The snail was after someone related to me – Dawn had worked that out already.

  My father wasn’t up the tree – rats.

  So the snail must be after the boy – that was the only answer.

  So.

  The boy must be related to me.

  That’s when it all clicked. The thought hit me like a train rushing out of a tunnel. Suddenly it all made sense.

  ‘You,’ I whispered to the boy. ‘You … You must be my …’ I could hardly get the word out. I seemed to choke on it. ‘You’re … my …’

  ‘Brother,’ he said softly. I could see tears forming in his eyes.

  I had a brother. All these years he had been alive and I never knew. I was all mixed up inside. Why hadn’t I been told?

  I was confused. I was heartbroken that Dad wasn’t there. But I had someone new. At that moment the world became a little more friendly. I didn’t seem quite so alone.

  My brother and I both started to sob. He reached out and grabbed my arm. He pulled me close. ‘You’re only a little squirt,’ he said. ‘But you’re mine. A blood relative. I thought I was alone.’

  A blood relative? That’s right. The snail had been after him. Not Dad.

  After a bit he managed to say, ‘Your … our … my mother. And father. Are they still alive?’

  I nodded. And hoped that I wasn’t lying.

  ‘What are they like?’ he asked in a trembling voice.

  I couldn’t think what to say. ‘Well,’ I managed to get out. ‘That gap between your teeth. That comes from Dad. And those pointy ears. They come from Mum.’

  ‘Mum?’ he said. ‘Dad?’ He seemed to have trouble getting the words out. ‘I had a mum,’ he said. ‘And a dad. They were both killed.’

  ‘But …’ I started to say.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘My real parents were only sixteen when I was born. I never met them. They gave me up for adoption. That’s all I know about them. My new parents were wonderful. But they died in a car crash. And I ended up here. In the cottage homes.’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He looked so sad. ‘Tell me about your parents,’ he said. ‘Because they are my parents too, you know.’

  I knew what he said was true. But it still made me feel funny inside. Having a brother – a real brother – was good. But I wasn’t sure that I wanted to share my parents … again.

  I started to tell him my story. It came tumbling out. Full of stuff about Dad and Mum and our step-family.

  Halfway through the story a voice came floating up from below. ‘Rory. What are you doing up there?’ yelled Dawn. ‘Hatching an egg?’

  ‘That’s the one I told you about,’ I said to my brother. ‘That’s my step-sister. Big Bad Dawn. She’s … She’s … all right, I suppose.’

  ‘Hang on to your britches,’ I yelled at Dawn. ‘I can’t come down yet.’

  There were more interruptions from below but Howard and I ignored them. We talked and talked and talked. Both learning what there was to know about the other. My new brother got upset when I told him about Mum being in hospital. And Dad being in danger of infection. I tried to explain about the germs but he didn’t believe that part of it.

  ‘That’s bulldust,’ he said. ‘Are you weird or what?’

  ‘Come down and see the snail,’ I told him. ‘It’s after you. It wants to infect you. You’ll see.’

  ‘It’ll be a long time, little brother,’ he said, ‘before I’m scared of a snail.’

  We both climbed down the tree and jumped onto the grass.

  ‘This is Dawn,’ I said. ‘My … your … our step-sister.’ She was standing there with her mouth hanging open like one of those sideshow clowns.

  ‘What?’ said Dawn slowly. I could see that her mind was working overtime. She just couldn’t figure it out. For once she didn’t have a clue what was going on.

  ‘This is my brother Howard,’ I told her.

  She was shocked. Totally gobsmacked. She just stood there looking from me to Howard and back again. She couldn’t take it in. But there was one thing I noticed. Straight away.

  She liked him.

  ‘And this is Gramps,’ I said.

  Gramps had the engine running on the Morris Minor and the bonnet up. At first I thought that the car must have broken down. But it hadn’t. Gramps was cooking something on the cylinder head of the engine. He grabbed the meal with his pliers and held it out towards my brother.

  ‘Hello, Howard,’ he said. ‘Do you like escargots?’

  Howard looked puzzled. Was he wondering why Gramps didn’t seem surprised to see him? Or was he just trying to figure out if his new family really ate that sort of thing?

  As if to answer his question, Gramps popped the hot snail into his mouth and began to munch. ‘Delicious,’ he said. ‘Absolutely delicious.’

  TWO

  I was stunned. A step-brother I’d never heard of had just dropped out of a tree. I was gobsmacked. I was flabbergasted. But the shock hadn’t affected me as badly as it had Gramps. He’d gone ga-ga.

  ‘Gramps,’ I screamed, ‘spit that out at once.’

  Gramps smacked his lips. ‘Top tucker,’ he said, swooshing the snail round in his mouth.

  ‘Don’t be a dope,’ I yelled at him. ‘Just because the infection wasn’t after you before, doesn’t mean it can’t change its mind. Even microbes get angry when you eat them.’

  I turned to Rory and Howard for support. Howard was staring at us all and slowly backing away. I could tell he thought we were mad. A gang of loonies. A few billion brain cells short of a step-family.

  I turned back to Gramps, who was still chewing happily. ‘Do you want to turn into a walking monster?’ I shouted at him, scared.

  Everyone was looking at me now. Gramps as if I was sadly misguided and Howard as if I was a mental case and Rory as if I was a thoughtless and hurtful step-sister.

  Which I was.

  Suddenly I realised it wasn’t the microbes that were angry, it was me. Gramps was as bad as all the others. All the people I cared about ended up sick or hurt or dead. Dad in hospital with a damaged leg. Mum at the bottom of the river. When were people in this family going to start taking care of themselves?

  Gramps swallowed the snail.

  ‘Mmm-mmm,’ he said, ‘I could go another dozen of those.’

  I held my breath and watched Gramps anxiously. Would the infection race through his body and turn his skin blotchy and make his memory even worse than it was now? I hoped desperately that Rory and I were right about the illness. That it only infected people who were related by b
lood. And that each new victim had to be related by blood to the person infected before them.

  Gramps wasn’t related to Eileen by blood, even though she’d squeezed a couple of his blackheads.

  Gramps gave me a hug. ‘It’s okay, love,’ he said. ‘I used to eat snails by the barrow-load in France in the war. Scientists have proved that if you heat a snail above a hundred and six degrees Celsius, you kill any germs on it.’ Gramps frowned. ‘Or was that frogs’ legs?’

  I felt like shaking him, even though he was an old man and I loved him and his teeth weren’t that secure.

  But I didn’t.

  Because at that moment I realised how much danger we were in. A big group of kids had gathered round and were staring at us. Now that Gramps had finished his snack, they were staring at Rory.

  ‘Gramps,’ I whispered, ‘we’ve got to get Rory out of here. Hospitals call the cops when people steal one of their patients. Rory’s probably on the TV news. If he’s recognised we’ll be arrested.’

  Gramps frowned. I hoped he was thinking about how we could get out of there without causing a disturbance. I know I was. Then Howard did something that saved us the trouble.

  He touched Rory. Just put his fingertips gently on Rory’s arm, the one that was purple and blotchy with the infection.

  ‘Were you born like that?’ he asked softly. His own skin looked pale and smooth next to Rory’s.

  Rory stared at Howard’s arm. His eyes filled with tears. Suddenly he turned and pushed through the circle of gawking kids and broke into a lopsided run down the road.

  ‘Quick,’ I yelled at Gramps.

  We struggled through the kids. I helped Gramps get the bonnet of the car down. Just as I was about to leap in, I saw Howard standing nearby, watching.

  I’d never seen so much sadness on one kid’s face.

  Even as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. I knew I’d regret it. I didn’t want another step-brother. I didn’t want another kid living at my place sticking jammy knives in the margarine. I didn’t want to have to share Dad with anyone else.

  But he just looked so sad.

  ‘If you want to find out about your parents,’ I said, ‘hop in.’